Queen's Gambit - Karen Chance Page 0,201

going to inquire about this magical army. And when he couldn’t tell her . . .

Yeah.

“Maybe it’s all the crazy shit we’ve been fighting,” Jason said. “That stuff looked like an army to me.”

“Too random,” Tomas said. “The fey like organized, disciplined troops. The stuff we’ve been seeing . . .” he shook his head. “Some of that might have been discards, things Jonathan couldn’t use and released to keep people scared and away from here. But it’s not an army.”

“How do you know so much about Faerie?” I asked.

He shrugged. “That’s where I went, to escape your husband.” He hesitated, and then blurted out. “Are you really married?”

“Yes, why?”

“You don’t bear his mark.”

I looked at him levelly. “I bit him.”

Tomas just stared at me for a moment, and then he laughed. “Okay, don’t tell me. Who knew a dhampir would have a sense of humor?”

“Yeah, who knew.” I handed him my card.

“What’s this?”

“I might have a job for you, and your team, if you want it.”

He tilted his head. “What kind of a job?”

“The kind that pays a lot of money and might get you killed.”

He grinned. “Right up our alley, then.”

He walked off.

“What was that all about?” Louis-Cesare asked, coming up behind me.

“Thinking about hiring the team to help me go get Dorina.”

“And you trust them with that?”

I shrugged. “You know how it goes. Where else am I going to get a bunch crazy enough to go in there?”

He smiled slightly. “I suppose so.”

I looked back at him, but didn’t turn around, because he’d started to give me a shoulder massage and it felt good. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

“It’s just that, you and Tomas—”

“That was over as soon as Christine died. I need to explain that to him, but talking to the man for more than a minute without wanting to belt him—”

“He does have a certain charm.” I paused. I didn’t want to ask if we were all right, but I needed to. “Like me?”

He kissed the top of my head. “Later.”

Now what did that mean?

Not that I could blame him for not wanting to get into personal matters right now. Zheng was on a tear, which in his case, meant dragging the freshest of the bodies around and yelling. “Damn it, find me a bokor!”

“I thought you didn’t want one?” Sarah said.

Zheng snarled at her, and she put up her hands. “Okay, okay. We’re going. We’ll be by to pick up that reward tomorrow.”

“What reward?”

“The one you’re going to pay us to keep our mouths shut.”

They left.

One of Zheng’s braver boys edged up. “Sir, by the time a bokor could get here, the mind will have decomposed to the point—”

“Do it anyway!” he growled. “Not that we should have to. If that bitch Ranbir isn’t dead, I swear—”

“Did I hear someone take my name in vain?”

I looked up, and so did everyone else, to see Ranbir himself coming down a metal set of stairs from what looked like an office. Only, if I’d been him, I’d have been headed back up, instead, because Zheng was Not Feeling It. But Ranbir tripped happily downward anyway, a small leather pouch in his hand.

“Nice of you to join us,” I said. “Your team just left.”

“Yes, I know. I was waiting for that.”

“Too ashamed to face them?” Zheng demanded, with a sneer.

“No, I thought you might want to decide this without an audience.” He held up the bag.

* * *

Zheng still had an audience, but only of three. His boys were downstairs with strict orders that we not be disturbed. Louis-Cesare, Zheng, Ranbir and I were up in the office, making decisions that all of us were far too tired for.

“This is above my paygrade,” Zheng said, striding back and forth. That was a good trick, as the office was small, and Zheng took up the space of two. The bag was there as well, sitting in the middle of the desk. It was nothing special, just the type that medieval people kept money in, and that somebody like Jonathan kept an army in.

It was, of course, fey tech, the same kind that my arsenal was composed of. Only this one was much, much bigger. I opened it up again, even though it was a little dizzying to look down into a space that your brain expected to be small, and see a vast hangar, of the type that they kept jumbo jets in, milling with Jonathan’s handiwork.

It was even stranger to think that all of this—the original

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